At the seething and fiery center

He sits upon his ebon throne

Within his halls of darkness

Which no man has seen and survived the vision



Both blind and bereft of mind

He pipes unceasingly on his reed flute

And the notes that rise and fall in measured patterns

Are the foundations of all the worlds

Ever calculating in sound the structure of space and time



Were his flute ever to suddenly fall silent

All the spheres would shatter into one another

And the myriads of worlds

Would be unmade

As they were before creation



The flute of the blind idiot

Both makes and unmakes the worlds in ceaseless

Combinations

Spinning on the woven carpet of time



No creation without destruction

No destruction without creation



To unmake a thing is to make another

Each time a thing is made

Another is destroyed



(solo: Dallas)



The idiot god on his black throne

Does not choose

What shall rise into being

And what should pass away

He cares only to maintain

His mindless unholy music of

Random creation and destruction



No living creature can look upon his face

And endure its terrible heat

And black radiance

That is like the reverberating unseen rays of molten iron

Which strike and burn the skin

Of those who would dare

Gaze into the countenance of the idiot god



Never does he receive supplicants

In his black halls of uncouth angles and strange doors

Nor does he ever hear prayers or answer them

Endlessly he pipes

And endlessly he devours his own substance

For his hunger is insatiable

As he consumes his own wastes after the custom of idiots



As the god creates

So he destroys